


Some Time Yet

by keelywolfe



Series: That Zombie AU I Keep Writing [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Protocols were protocols, in the event that a runner came back with a wound of an uncertain nature. But Martin, well, he's never been one for following rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Time Yet

**Author's Note:**

> I laid on the consent warnings stronger on this than I think it needs, but hey, I like to be safe. Suffice to say its dubious, but heck, it's a zombie AU. Proceed at your own risk.
> 
> Story idea began with this picture right here: http://areyousuretonightsadangernight.tumblr.com/post/115878145681

Protocol stated that any runner who came back with any wound of an uncertain nature had to spend twelve hours in confinement. Twelve hours was plenty of time, more than enough, for symptoms to set it. Sunken eyes, graying skin, uncontrollable drooling, incoherence, and my, what big teeth you have, grandmother, dearest; a laundry list that all led down a simple path that ended with a bullet in the brain. 

Better that than the alternative.

Knowing protocol didn't make having to sit tied to a chair for twelve hours any better a way to spend the day; it wasn't from the bruise on his neck, the toothy bruises that stood out in stark relief. They weren't from any of the fucking dead who hadn't had the grace or sense to lay down, no, those were from another sort of bastard who'd walked back into base without a by-your-leave, leaving Richard alone in confinement until he tested out one way or another. 

It was the cut on his arm that left them wary. Small, hardly the length of a thumbnail, but it was deep, wasn't it, and the blood had been flying today. A bite was worse, much worse, but blood was suspect, blood carried, and there was a chance, albeit a small one, and these days a small chance was far too large a one to take. 

Again, protocol, and that was all good and well. And if Richard walked out of here, he would be taking it out on someone's arse as soon as his timer ticked down.

Fucking boring was what it really was. Tinny music came through a speaker, the only source of entertainment, and the time was called every half hour. Seemed like that would be better but instead it was almost a form of torture, waiting, waiting for that neutral voice to give the time and it took for fucking ever, sitting there with wrists and ankles tied and a ticklish bead of sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades. Waiting, always waiting, for the end of this, the end of everything, waiting for a death that wasn't coming, not this time, not yet, but soon, maybe, soon they might all be dead and all they could do was totter on the edge of insanity, feel it cutting blade-sharp into their brains as they all, all of them, waited.

It was the creak of the door that interrupted the gabbling circularity of his thoughts. The squeal of hinges set in a thick steel door and Richard blinked through the gloom of the single bare bulb, stared at the person who shut it behind him. Words, low and hoarse through a dry throat, crept free. "Martin. You aren't supposed to be in here."

"I'm well aware of that, considering I helped come up with the protocols." He stopped well away from Richard, hands in his pockets and in the dimness his eyes were nothing more than shadows. "Aren't you just a pretty fucker like this."

Richard let out a surprised bark of laughter, the sound strangling out of his tight throat. "I may bloody well be infected and about to have a bullet added to my brain and that's what you have to say."

"Sympathy is a bit thin on the ground these days." Martin stepped closer, tugging one hand free of his pocket and Richard bit his lip as Martin settled it on his knee, his thumb stroking lightly at the inside seam of his trousers. "Besides, it's true. Sitting there with your legs spread and your hands tied. Looks a bit like an advertisement for your cock."

Said cock was a mindless traitor, not caring a bit that death was crawling closer with every passing minute. He was already hard, straining behind the zip of his trousers and Martin was right, wasn't he. It was an advertisement, a taunt, nothing coy about the jut of his hips when Richard struggled.

Martin's palms made a raspy whisper against his jeans as they slid up his thighs, both thumbs stroking their way up and they found the bulge at his crotch readily, dragged up the length with sweet, firm pressure. Clever hands, so clever, and Richard had seen them working, dripping blood, had seen them nimble on a gun, seen them wrapped around his prick. Watched them now as Martin undid his belt, opening his trousers roughly.

"Don't," Richard ground out hoarsely as Martin fell to his knees, Christ, no, don't, come wasn't blood but risks were risks, and Martin couldn't be thinking of, surely even he wasn't that mad.

"Yes, yes," Martin said, almost absently, one hand curled around Richard's dick in a too-loose grip, the other fumbling at his belt, finally drawing a familiar foil square free. He tore it open with a care, rolling the condom on with care before flashing Richard a grin. "Everyone should carry a fuck or die condom, I believe. Not that it matters."

"Martin--" Richard broke off as Martin shifted up on his knees and swallowed him down, huffing in air through his nose as he sucked him in deep. Richard groaned out, too loud, "Ah, fuck!"

Martin pulled off with a wet, obscene sound, flashing that grin up at him again, "Can't do that, lovely, only have the one condom. Besides, I like your teeth where they are and not in my throat. Speaking of," A last cheeky smile and Richard bit off another groan as he was swallowed down again, wet, perfect suction even through a thin layer of latex.

"You little bastard," Richard whispered. He was helpless, bound at the wrist and ankles to this fucking chair, hardly able to do more that hitch his hips upward, follow the tantalizingly slow slide of Martin's mouth. And it was slow, _damn_ slow, Martin took cocksucking to an art form. Richard licked his lips, tasting the rustiness of blood from his split lip and the salt from a fresh rush of sweat, and watched as Martin slowly pulled off before sucking him back down, cheeks hollowing as he swallowed tightly around the head.

Trust Martin to make a blowjob a form of torture, with no leeway for a bloke's upcoming death. He kept it up, slow, tight sucks with hardly a rhythm to speak of, the twirl of his tongue a slippery torment, until Richard was straining against the ropes, his breath coming in frantic sobs and every word that fell from his lips was either Martin's name or a curse.

"Fuck, please, fucking please, Martin, I can't--you have to fucking finish it, I'm close, fuck--you, fuck!" Richard heaved a last, wordless groan as Martin took him abruptly deep, swallowing hard, near to gagging, but the feel of it, his throat around Richard's cock, it was enough to push him to the edge and send him tottering over, fighting against the bindings, _straining_ , and it felt like his temples bulged with the force of it. Dimly feeling the hot spill of his own come into latex and he wished fleetingly he could feel Martin choking on it, struggling to swallow it down.

Instead, he could only sag back into the chair and watch mutely as Martin pulled off, pressing a last kiss against his wincingly sensitive prick before gently pulling off the condom. He tied it off before doing up Richard's trousers and he climbed to his feet with a groan, striding over to the single bare bulb and holding it up to the light.

"You'll not mind if I run a few tests on this, I'm sure." It wasn't really a question and Richard didn't answer. "Useful, maybe, if you turn up infected."

"Fuck you," Richard said, wearily. Sweat was drying chilly on his skin and he shivered, wincing inwardly because it was only sweat, it was, not a symptom, just the aftermath of getting fucked over while tied to a chair.

"Sorry, lovely, I already said that wasn't on the table."

Martin didn't come close to him again, only stuck one hand back into his pocket and held his prize in the other. With the light behind him, his face was cast into shadow and Richard thought perhaps that was better, better not to see the stony coldness in those eyes. Perhaps.

It was only when he was at the door that Martin hesitated, did not turn back to Richard when he said, "For what it's worth, I do hope I see you in the commissary in the morning."

Instead of on the burn pile he didn't say. Didn't have to. Martin banged on the door and it opened long enough for him to slip out, leaving Richard alone with the reedy music seeping through the speaker and the voice telling him he had six hours yet to go. Time, yes, there was some time yet, ticking slowly by as he waited to find out if there was a bullet in his blood.

-finis-


End file.
